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Isco stood behind the counter, waiting. He had been waiting for a whole minute. It seemed like he would have to wait for a few more.
“No. No. Marcelo, I don’t care.” The customer insisted. “Call them back, and tell them the merger’s off … what? … Of course they’re going to be angry …. No, I patently don’t give a single shit. I hope they do get angry. And maybe next time, they’ll know not to jeopardize a year-long negotiation so close to settlement by backtracking on a concession they made six months ago.”
Isco drummed his fingers impatiently on the counter. The man had been in the middle of the same phone-call when he joined the queue five customers ago. He seemed to see no reason why a little thing like reaching the counter with a sizeable queue behind him should disrupt his conversation.
Isco had long since used up his arsenal of non-verbal gestures of impatience. He had folded his arms, shifted his weight from foot to foot, sighed visibly and aloud – but this guy was either oblivious to the fundamentals of body language, or he just didn’t care. By now, there were three people in the queue behind him. Isco would have placed his week’s wages on the latter.
“ …. and you know what?” The man continued, incensed. “Cancel tomorrow’s meeting. Cancel all forthcoming meetings with them. Tell them that we’ll reinstate dialogue when they come back to the table with an acceptable offer, and not a second beforehand. Understood?”
One of Isco’s regular customers, Iker, was stuck behind the man. He caught Isco’s gaze, raised his hands in disbelief, and repeatedly tapped at his watch. What the fuck, he mouthed. Isco gave him an apologetic look before turning his attention back to the customer.
“Sir.” Isco said, with an unnatural volume, interrupting the conversation. “May I take your –“
But the customer merely raised a hand to stop Isco, and continued talking. Isco stared at him, dumbfounded. Back in the queue, Iker mimed wrapping his hands around the man’s throat and throttling him.
“ … Marcelo, hold on, I’m getting my coff – no. No, we’re not going to be reconciliatory. We’re in a position to bargain. They aren’t. When they realize that, they’ll be back.” Then, finally, he placed a hand over the mouthpiece of his phone for a few seconds, just long enough to say, “A soy venti macchiato with two sugars.”
Somehow, Isco wasn’t surprised that the man’s order was obnoxious, and that his clearly extensive vocabulary didn’t encompass the word please. Isco looked the man up and down. He wore the kind of suit that suggested he didn’t have to rely on a word like please too often.
“Can I get you anything else with that?” Isco asked, between gritted teeth.
“No. No, Marcelo. Listen, I’ll be there in ten minutes, okay? We’ll discuss matters then. Alright. Bye.”
Finally, he hung up. He sighed like the entire world had something against him, and properly met Isco’s gaze for the first time. His eyes were a deep blue, like liquid sapphires, and they seemed even brighter because they were rimmed by deep, dark circles. Isco found himself thinking that it was a shame that such nice eyes belonged to such an asshole.
Not that Isco had noticed, or anything.
“Five euros.” Isco said, and the man slipped the perfect change across the counter. In the midst of banking it, Isco asked, “And your name, sir? For the coffee?”
“Tony. Thank you.”
Isco nodded as he scribbled the name onto the cup. He had known a Tony long ago – a kid in high school who had spent a year borrowing his pens in class and losing every single one of them. He had been insufferable too.
Must be something in the name, he thought.
Tony walked in at 7.15 the next morning, and his phone was stitched to his ear again. There weren’t any other customers in the coffee shop, so he made his way straight to the counter. He dropped his briefcase on the floor, nodded at Isco to acknowledge him, and continued what seemed to be the same argument with the same person from the day before.
“ …. listen, Marcelo. If they want to bring lawyers into this, they can. Ours are better. I’m not concerned about legal action. We’ll litigate them to the ground.”
Isco wasn’t a charitable person by nature, but he contemplated giving Tony a free coffee for this poor, suffering Marcelo figure – whoever he was.
“I hate to interrupt what I’m sure is a very important conversation,” Isco cut in sarcastically, in both a tone and volume that would probably get him fired if Sergio overheard it. “But can I take your order?”
Tony stared at him for a long moment before cutting short his conversation.
“Hey, Marcelo? Yeah, can I call you back? Good. Bye.” He then slipped the device into the inside pocket of his blazer and looked pointedly at Isco’s name badge. “Tell me – Isco – do you use that tone that with all your customers?”
“No. I don’t.” Isco replied testily. “They really have to earn it.”
The answer didn’t impress Tony at all. “Do I need to ask to speak to your manager?”
“That’s up to you, but my manager isn’t here yet.”
In fact, Sergio was out the back with Pepe, helping to unpack the supply truck that had come in that morning. But Tony didn’t need to know that. Isco stole a glance at the clock on the far wall and figured that if Tony was out of here within the next ten minutes, the lie would go undetected.
“I’ll be back tomorrow morning to speak to him, then.”
“Whatever. In the meantime, you still haven’t given me your order.”
“I want ….” Tony began - and Isco had served enough customers for one lifetime to recognise that tone. It forewarned a difficult order, the kind that Isco would be complaining about for the next month, that he would repeat to terrified newbies to show them the worst end of the customer spectrum. “ … a half-soy, half-trim venti macchiato with a hazelnut shot, sweetened with one sugar and one sweetener. Think you can manage that?”
The corners of his lips had twisted upwards, like he had won already.
“One half-soy, half-trim, venti macchiato with a hazelnut shot, sweetened with one sugar, and one sweetner.” Isco replied, without missing a beat, repeating the order, word for perfect word, because this guy wasn’t the first of his kind, or even close to the worst. “Is that right?”
Tony’s lips untwisted just a little. Isco figured that this was as close he would get to a yes.
“Coming right up.” He said, smiling with a hint of artificial sweetness as he did so.
“Try to get the name right today, won’t you?” Tony said, ignoring the smugness of Isco’s response. “You misspelt it yesterday. It’s Toni with an ‘I’, not a ‘Y’.”
Isco scribbled the name – or a variant of it – on a takeaway cup, and began preparing the drink. When he eventually handed it over, Toni-with-an-I accepted the cup with the most insincere thank you he had heard during seven years in the hospitality industry. He decided that if Toni-with-an-I came back the following morning to complain to Sergio about his behaviour, he would serve the next order directly to Toni-with-an-I’s face.
Isco liked to be difficult sometimes, when customers got on his nerves, and Sergio didn’t like it. Isco maintained that he was refining the quality of their clientele. Sergio exasperatedly reminded him that no one could afford to cherry-pick customers in this economy.
In any case, he arrived at work the next morning wondering whether his short temper would be enough to ward off Toni-with-an-I. For most people, going somewhere else was preferable to picking an argument with a barista that wouldn’t budge.
But lo, Isco thought, as Toni-with-an-I appeared at the store window the next morning, and made his way inside. He was in a dark grey suit. The fact that it was a three-piece inexplicably magnified Isco’s disdain for him. It looked tailored too, and it rested pristinely against his well-built body.
Not that Isco had noticed that, or anything.
And again, he was on his phone.
The coffee-shop was empty. Toni-with-an-I arrived at the counter, in the midst of yet another vexed conversation. He met Isco’s eye, continued his call, and didn’t stop speaking for at least another three minutes. Isco knew that at least another three minutes had passed, because he watched the clock on the wall and timed Toni-with-an-I as he spoke.
Isco got so carried away with the task, and with his simmering sense of disdain, that he didn’t realize when Toni finished his conversation. He only came to when he realized that fingers were being snapped in front of his eyes.
“So you space out on the job as well.” Toni observed. “Where’s your manager?”
“Not here. He’s home with a migraine.”
And this morning, it was true. Sergio had messaged Isco at 5 that morning, complaining that a ten-storey building was on top of his skull. He asked Isco to open up the shop, and to arrange for someone else to come in for a shift.
“I guess I’ll be back tomorrow, then.” Toni said.
“Suit yourself. Are you actually going to order anything this morning? Or did you come in just to be obnoxious?”
“Give me an Earl Grey tea. No milk, no sugar. Steep it for two minutes.”
“Earl Grey's only meant to be steeped for three to five.”
“I like it light.” Toni said. “And let’s be frank. Neither of us wants me to be in here longer than absolutely necessary.”
Isco gave him a humourless smile. “So, we agree on something, then.”
Toni held out a five-Euro note to Isco. When Isco reached for it, Toni tightened his grip on the bill.
“While we’re on the subject of obnoxious behaviour,” he noted drily. “How about you try to spell my name correctly this morning? It’s T-O-N-I.”
“That’s exactly what I wrote on your cup yesterday.” Isco replied, yanking the money out of his hand.
“You did. But you also sandwiched it between an A-N and an O. My name is not Antonio.”
Isco shrugged indifferently. “You should consider making the switch. Antonio’s nicer.”
The next morning was a Saturday. Isco wasn’t supposed to be working but Sergio was still ill. Faced with the prospect of closing for the day or inconveniencing Isco, Sergio only too happily chose the latter. Isco tried to focus on the extra money and the small mercy of opening up at eight in the morning instead of at six. It didn’t help much, especially not when the warm morning sunshine began streaming in through the windows, taunting him with beautiful weekend weather that he wouldn’t get to enjoy.
At quarter past eight, he spied his first customer of the morning jogging to the door. When the customer came inside, Isco realized with a drop to his gut that it was none other than Toni. He wore small grey running shorts and a loose black singlet, the front of which sunk an indecent extent down his chest. In the five seconds it took Toni to walk up to the counter, Isco found himself thinking that his arms were surprisingly more built and golden than he had expected them to be.
Not that he was looking, or anything.
Toni yanked his earbuds from his ears and smiled like they hadn’t spent the entire week exchanging barbed insults.
“Morning.”
“Where’s your phone?” Isco asked.
“I’m not carrying it with me.” Toni said. “That means you have to be polite to me today.”
“Do I? I’m not sure that I do.”
Toni sighed and ran a hand through his hair. If Isco didn’t know any better, he would have taken that gesture for one of guilt.
“Look, Isco. We got off on the wrong foot.” Toni explained. “I’m a nice person. I swear. You caught me in the middle of a rough week at work. I was a bit of a dick. I shouldn’t have behaved as I did. I’m sorry.”
Isco eyed him over. Toni’s gaze was unguarded, and he twisted and untwisted the cord of his earbuds over and off his index and middle fingers. He very slowly bounced on the heels of his sneakers too. Begrudgingly, Isco accepted that the apology appeared to be genuine. He didn’t admit it aloud, though.
“You were a real jerk last week.” Isco pointed out. “Like, a real jerk. ”
“Okay, fair enough. That’s … not uncalled for. But since the transition to civility is clearly going to take us some time,” Toni offered, “how about we declare a truce for the day because it’s the weekend, and then on Monday, we go back to sniping at each other? Then we slowly work towards politeness?”
“That depends. Do you still want to speak to my manager on Monday?”
“Yes. I do.”
“Then you and I are going to stick to this whole mutual exchange of thinly-veiled hatred.” Isco replied breezily. He reached for a disposable cup and a marker to take the order. “What can I get you this morning?”
Toni looked more amused rather than frustrated. “As you wish. I’ll have a hot chocolate with a vanilla shot”
“A hot chocolate?” Isco raised an eyebrow. “Really? You’re going to ruin your run?”
Toni raised an eyebrow. He looked to be on the verge of smiling. “Did I ask for your advice?”
“All your hard work will be undone.”
“I’m at peace with that prospect.”
“It’ll go straight to your ass.” Isco warned. He stood on his tippy-toes and took a look at Toni over the counter before adding, “Although on second thought – that might not be such a bad thing, in your case.”
Toni was definitely smiling now. His cheeks crested sharply, and his lips pursed together into something rather smug.
“Here’s an idea. How about you stop checking out my ass, and you start making my drink?”
“You don’t have an ass to check out.” Isco retorted, moving behind the coffee-machine to froth the milk. He was quietly thankful that the machine concealed most of his face in the process. “Anyway, tell me something. Why do you keep coming back here? There’s a different coffee shop down every five steps on this street.”
“I know. I’ve tried every one of them. All their coffees are subpar.”
“As opposed to?”
“Yours.” Toni answered. Isco looked up over the machine just in time to catch his smirk. “Which are adequate.”
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that was a compliment.”
“It was a compliment.” Toni said, in a tone last used by a witch in disguise selling a poisoned apple to a small child.
Isco rolled his eyes and finished preparing the drink. He capped it and handed it over to Toni.
“There you go. One adequate hot chocolate.”
Toni laughed at that, and his was a loud, brief laugh that changed the demeanour of his entire face. He threw back his head, and with it, the air of cool composure he had shown earlier in the week. Toni left the store, and left Isco with the distinct impression that maybe – just maybe – his first impression about him been an error of judgment.
Not that Isco cared, or anything.
On Monday morning, Isco weathered a morning rush that was heavier and longer than normal, and Toni appeared a little while after it. Isco noted that he had cut his hair in the two days since they had last seen each other. It was shorter on the sides now, and it made the lines of his face more pronounced. His eyes seemed brighter for it as well, even though Isco knew that logically, this couldn’t be the case.
“Good morning, Isco.” Toni smiled. “I’ll have a cappuccino please.”
Isco stared at him blankly. “Sorry, what?”
“I said: good morning Isco. I’ll have a cappuccino please. Thank you.”
“No, I heard you the first time.” Isco replied. He leaned forward against the counter and narrowed his eyes at Toni. “What are you doing?”
“I’m ordering a drink.”
“No, you’re ordering a sensible drink. With manners. It’s making me uncomfortable.”
“Is it?”
“Yeah, it is.”
“Excellent.” Toni smirked.
And Isco thought to himself, ah. There’s the asshole I know. He scribbled a name on a disposable cup and made the cappuccino, stealing the occasional sideward glance at Toni as he did so. Toni was in a black suit and black tie, and he scanned the posters on the wall behind Isco with mild interest while he waited.
When Isco finally handed the drink over, Toni took the cup out of its sleeve before tasting it. When he saw what Isco had written, he chuckled.
“Really, Isco? Toe-Knee?”
“I’m pleased with that one. Notice how I only used parts of the leg to construct the pun.”
“It’s still a misspelling.”
“Yes. But it’s an anatomically consistent misspelling.”
Toni raised a single, infuriatingly arched eyebrow. “Did you plan this one in advance, Isco?”
“No.” Isco lied.
Because he had. The thought had come to him in bed the night before, sometime between putting down his book and falling asleep. He was so pleased with himself that he went to the effort of getting out of bed, rummaging around for a pen and paper, and writing it down so that he wouldn’t forget. He had walked into work that morning with purpose in his step, and he had been waiting for Toni to come in so that he could deploy it.
Toni smiled. “If I didn’t know any better, Isco, I’d think you were making an effort for me.”
Isco flushed, entirely because the accusation was embarrassing, and not at all because it may have continued a kernel of truth – microscopic as it was.
“Don’t flatter yourself. More importantly, how’s the cappucino?”
Toni took a sip and pretended to think for a moment before nodding. “Perfectly adequate.” He said, slyly.
Isco wanted to throttle him, but in a slightly different way to last week, and perhaps for slightly different reasons.
The next morning, it rained. The coffee shop was fuller than normal, and people came inside for shelter from the weather as much as for the warmth of a hot drink. Toni wasn’t there first thing in the morning, and he didn’t come in as part of the morning rush either.
Not that Isco was waiting for him, or anything.
Toni eventually appeared at half past nine, drenched, phone glued to his ear. Rain had darkened his light grey suit into a darker shade, and the white shirt he wore underneath had plastered itself against his skin. His hair had fallen out of its parting, sticking off and above and to the side of his face, and he kept trying to smooth it back down.
Despite his dishevelled state, Toni caught Isco’s eye when he walked in, and he smiled. He dawdled near the front windows, away from the counter, continuing his conversation in hushed tones. Eventually, he found the mirror above the stand with the newspapers, and he continued speaking on the phone while running a hand repeatedly through his hair. Isco didn’t think that it made much of a difference; Toni’s hair seemed too wet to be compliant.
Not that Isco was watching him, or anything.
The queue had five or six customers when Toni arrived. Isco had long finished serving them by the time Toni finally made his way to the counter. By then, Isco had wiped and re-wiped the counter so many times that it was probably sterile enough for surgery.
Toni was still soaking wet, and at this proximity, Isco noticed that his cheeks bore the rosiness of the cold weather outside. He looked like he was in a good mood, and when he finally spoke, his tone was as playful as his eyes seemed to be.
“Did you see that? How I waited till the end of my conversation before approaching you?”
“So you’ve learned minimum standards of human etiquette.” Isco replied drily, his tone much more in control than whatever the hell was going on in his chest. “Or are you making an effort for me, Toni?”
When Toni had levelled that accusation at him the day before, it had sent Isco’s wits into a blushing nosedive. The same accusation seemed to have no noticeable effect on Toni. If anything, he seemed to welcome it. It sharpened the angles of his face, and his eyes took on a mischievous, challenging glint.
“What would you do, if I was?”
Isco’s mind, on the other hand, blanked white. He decided very quickly that it would be easier to ignore the question, and the look Toni was giving him, than to respond. That was precisely what he did.
“My manager’s here today.” He said, clearing his throat because his voice tripped up between the my and manager. “Do you still want me to call him?”
“No, that won’t be necessary. I think we’ve both learned our lessons.” Toni smiled. “And I’ll have a flat white today.”
“I see. So, uh.” Isco began, and then stopped. There was still a tea-towel beneath his hands. He twisted the fabric between his fingers, grateful for something to occupy them. “Is that it? We’re just going to be nice to each other from now on?”
“Looks like it.” Toni said. He slipped his hands in his pockets and gave a small shrug. “Is that a problem?”
“No, just – less interesting. You were more fun when you were being a jerk.”
Toni smiled. “Oh. I see. In that case, should I change my order to something more obnoxious?”
Isco responded with a vaguely reproachful look. “I was making an observation. I wasn’t inviting you to start annoying me again.”
“Well, let me know if you change your mind. I’d be more than happy to oblige.”
Isco moved behind the coffee machine and pursed his lips before they could curve into a smile. He began making the flat white, distinctly aware that Toni’s eyes were on him the whole time. Making coffee was reflexive to him, and Toni probably didn’t know the first thing about a decent brew, but Isco still found himself very aware of his hands, his actions, the speed with which he was performing this simple, ordinary task. He capped the drink when it was done and handed it over to Toni.
Before taking a sip, Toni took the cup out of the heat sleeve and examined it. When he looked back up at Isco, it was with a palpable sense of discontent.
“Oh. You spelled my name correctly.”
“For someone who’s been hounding me about it for a week, you sound inexplicably disappointed.”
“I am. I was waiting for you to top Toe-Knee.”
“Honestly?” Isco answered, raising his hands in defeat. “I tried and I couldn’t. ‘Toe-knee’ was my creative peak. I’m never going to top that. I’m retiring on a high.”
“That’s it?” Toni scoffed. “What about Toney? T-O-N-E-Y? Blatant misspelling, but phonetically perfect. You missed that?”
Isco paused for a moment, running over the letters in his mind, before conceding defeat with a quiet “Damn it.”
“I’m disappointed. This isn’t the service I’ve come to expect.”
Isco clutched sarcastically at the chest of his apron, dramatizing his tone in jest. “Oh no. How will I ever make it up to you?”
And even if Isco had sat down for an hour and brainstormed all the responses that Toni could have given him for that question, he would never have come up with the one that he eventually received.
Toni shrugged and took a sip of his coffee. Over the top of the cup, he said casually, “Well, you could start by letting me take you out to lunch.”
Isco stopped. He folded his arms. He narrowed his eyes and tilted his head back, like he was trying to ascertain whether Toni was kidding. Toni’s gaze remained even, confident, unwavering.
It’s unfair, Isco thought to himself and the wider universe at large, that he’s drenched from head to toe, and that he’s still the more composed of the two us.
“Lunch?” Isco began suspiciously. “Why? We can barely have a civilised conversation first thing in the morning.”
“Well, unless I’m woefully misreading this,” Toni said, gesturing back and forth between himself and Isco with his free hand, “and I’m almost certain that I’m not - you seem to enjoy it. So, instead of being jerks to each other for ten minutes over a counter in the morning, we can be jerks to each other for an hour over lunch. Sounds good, or no?”
Isco let a few more moments pass. He wanted to say yes. He didn’t want to say yes too quickly.
“Sounds adequate.” He eventually answered, wryly, and as much as he tried to resist a grin this time, it came around anyway. “I’m free at one thirty.”
“Then I’ll come get you at one thirty,” Toni said, eyes dancing as he slipped money for the coffee across the counter.
Not that Isco would count down the hours till then, or anything.
[But in case anyone was asking, there were four to go.]